New Day
by LTP-girl
Summary: Those who have ever watched Less than Perfect know that Lydia won't give poor Owen the time of day. But what if Miss. Parker was to encounter this sweet and sensitive supply-guy?


**I wasn't exactly sure where to put this story, as there are no 'Less Than Perfect' links. My first fic, so please be kind, lol! **

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of 'The Pretender' or 'Less than Perfect', _Brooks Brothers_, or _Joanne Mercer_.

Category: Owen Kronsky/Miss Parker R&R.

Rating: PG

Note: Crossover between 'The Pretender' and 'Less than Perfect.' I just thought it would be fun to experiment with the two characters in question, and see what it would be like if they were ever to cross paths.

New Day.

By LTP-girl

Owen continued to walk through the snow covered park, a haunting, yet beautiful setting, with icicles formed on the branches of stripped trees, and dark grey clouds looming in the sky threatening the birth of a restless snowstorm. _I should get my camera out here one day, and take some photos, _he thought, admiring the snowy wonderland that blanketed Central Park. He slid his stiff, icy hands into his jacket pockets, hunching over in face of the cold that lingered, which invoked a distinct sharpness in the air. It presented itself as embittered, as though setting out to grasp any living creature, smother the warmth out of it, only to leave behind bare, empty remains. He looked across the slippery snow covered ground at a sveltely built brunette woman dressed in a taupe overcoat, high-top boots, and maroon knit hat, dawdling through the snow. She made her way in an almost drifty manner. He recognised her as Lydia Weston, a colleague from his work at GNB. _A gorgeous colleague at that, _he thought to himself, looking back on when she gave him a drunken kiss at a Christmas party that was held one year. He often bumped into her in the hallways on the twenty-second floor where she worked, but gathered that she didn't really like him very much at all. He often silently admired her whilst she sat at her desk, busily writing gossip filled emails or painting her toenails, as he distributed office supplies to impatient clerks. She was one of the executive employees from the twenty-second floor, a fact-checker. But she looked different. _Why has she died her hair dark brown? _He thought to himself. As she walked on further, he got a closer glimpse of her profile. He noticed tiny specs of snowflakes clinging to her dark hair, and the whiteness of her skin, which appeared paler than usual, her face harbouring a gloomy disposition in correspondence with the stark surroundings. Her sorrowing eyes reflected the eerily cold atmosphere, projecting the melancholy frigidity inside of her. There was a sense of loneliness about her, that could be hindered a world away. She was a lone figure in sync with the contrast of grey, the only accompaniment of her willowy stature her shadow lagging behind her. He couldn't help but detect the quiet sadness that seeped from behind her exterior Brooks Brother's coat and Joanne Mercer boots. He couldn't help but notice that there was something slightly indomitable about her.

She felt the icy snow crunch beneath her boots and the bitter chill against her cheeks. Miss. Parker didn't mind the cold; in fact, she embraced it more than she embraced the crack of sunlight that sometimes glowed through hovering broken clouds over New York City during the winter months. The grey sky was calm and peaceful, even on a frosty day like today. Her business at the Centre was all over. After it was debunked and destroyed several years ago, she had started a new calm, yet interesting, life in New York, escaping the malice and cruelty it had inflicted on her soul. She woke each morning in her lavish Manhattan apartment thankful, and relieved, to find that she was no longer enslaved by its controllers. She was her own, and nobody else's. She could live a life of the freedom she yearned for her entire life, and enjoy it. She suddenly noticed the lanky blonde man with rectangular rimmed glasses trying to get her attention. _Who is he? _She thought to herself. She didn't know his face, nor did a name come to mind. She guessed he was a member of the book club she had recently joined, but couldn't put a name to a face, as there were so many different people she encountered each day whilst residing in New York City. She gazed at him as he got closer, slightly dreamy. _He's kind of cute, _she thought, now noticing the warm twinkle in his blue eyes burning vibrantly against the icy surroundings. And she smiled for the first time in weeks.

He smiled back, he's cheeks dimpling as he did so.


End file.
